The Guide to Interspecies Peacekeeping
Katie Chung
Case File 01
Filed: Finch, O. | Interrealm Mediation Bureau, Regional Division 7
Location: Mossglen Glade (Neutral)
Few things were less dignified than sinking ankle-deep into mud surrounded by glowing mushrooms before one’s first cup of tea.
Opal Finch sighed and jabbed the toe of her boot into a purple mushroom with white spots scattered on the cap and the stem. It wobbled and refused to die. Weird. Magical mushrooms of Mossglen should die if touched because of their sensitivity to environmental disruptions.
Potential invasive mushrooms across neutral territory, she noted on her clipboard.
“Right,” she muttered, straightening her coat, which still smelled faintly of salamander smoke from last week’s case. “Let’s get this over with.”
As she walked beside the iridescent mushroom caverns and homes, Opal spotted a troll and a dryad arguing loudly. She assumed they were the ones who called her department. Despite the troll’s small mouth covered with moss, his voice sounded like thunder. He was sitting on a mossy boulder right next to a patch of glowing green and yellow spotted mushrooms, which matched the mushrooms sprouting from his shoulders. In contrast, the dryad was a beautiful woman with hair resembling the dark green foliage of the neighboring oak trees, and her dress was made from tree roots and moss. Something interesting was the mushrooms growing from her hair, which Opal thought did not happen according to her studies on dryads.
“Interrealm Mediation Bureau,” she called as she approached the troll and the dryad. “Regional Division Seven. My name is Ms. Finch, and I am the Human Liaison. I’m here under Article Twelve to mediate the unauthorized land use complaint filed by—”
“He’s squatting!” a dryad snapped, jabbing a twig-finger toward the troll. “They’re my mushrooms! I planted them!”
“You what?!” The troll bellowed, rising from a mossy boulder. “I cleared this land with my tongue, barkskin!”
“You are a disgusting creature!”
“Oh yeah? Tell that to the mayor of this glade!”
Opal let them go for precisely three seconds before she flicked her Bureau badge open. The badge was engraved with sharp, detailed lines of the word IBM, short for Interrealm Mediation Bureau. A soft silver shimmer poured from its center. Because she was in Regional Division 7 department, Opal was unfortunately focused on mediating interspecies disputes rather than interrealm ones, which she found much more interesting than petty arguments. However, with the employee shortage and a potential worker union strike, Opal probably would not be promoted for years to come. She was going to complain to a higher authority that being a liaison for interspecies could potentially get her killed because she was a human. Of course, they used the old reasoning that she was one of the best. She gladly took the compliment, obviously. It felt good to be praised, despite the potential of death.
“If you continue shouting over me, I will issue fines. I do not enjoy issuing fines, but I am very good at it. So, be quiet. Anyways, it is stated that this land permits cultivation without proper documentation from the Department of Flora and Fauna. Once with the documentation, you can be granted ownership.” Opal paused. “You did file documentation, yes?”
Both glared. No replies.
“Thought so.” Opal shook her head. Since there was no escalated assault, the best she could do was a warning.
Then came a groan.
Not the dryad. Not the troll. From behind her.
Opal turned slowly.
There, lounging like an exhausted cat across a mushroom nearly the size of her desk, was what looked like a fae. Tall. Willow-thin. Smirking. However, his fashion seemed to be inspired after seeing a satirical painting about human fashion: layers of silk, embroidery, mismatched buttons, and too many rings that could be interpreted as brass knuckles. The fae’s hair could almost be described as smoke caught in the moonlight from its shifting silver color. His golden eyes glinted with mischief as he swung his legs idly.
“Who are you?” Opal asked, already dreading the answer.
He tipped two fingers in a mock salute. “Oh, Jasper will do. Lovely glade, isn’t it?”
Opal stared at the fae. From what she remembered from her training, faes cannot lie, so they bend the truth, such as their true name. This probably means that the name ‘Jasper’ was probably made up. She also remembered a rumor about faes stealing other people’s names, but that was recently against the law. Opal gave him a pointed glare. “Are you part of this case?”
"No, but I do dabble. Stirred some thoughts. Encouraged dreams. She said she wanted a garden, and he wanted to invest. Beautiful mushrooms, if I do say so myself.”
“Wait, that fae told me they were mine!” the dryad hissed.
“He told me I had every right!” the troll roared.
“Well, he told me first!”
“Oh yeah? I do not see your name plastered anywhere!”
“I can tell you are just making things up to get stuff for your own needs. Your head is only filled with cobwebs and dust!”
“If I can say, it rather depends on whether we are measuring time linearly,” Jasper mused, inspecting his fingernails.
Opal inhaled through her nose. “All of you, shut it.”
They did.
She turned to Jasper. “I should cite you for unauthorized meddling.”
He blinked and tilted his head. “Meddling? I merely suggested they both take advantage of such fertile soil. No crime in matchmaking.”
Opal pinched the bridge of her nose. Her fingers came away dusted in glitter spores. Of course, how could she forget? These mushrooms released visible glitter spores. She exhaled in annoyance.
“Alright. Let's get one thing straight,” she said, turning back to the troll and the dryad. “Neither of you has the proper documentation. Neither of you can claim legal ownership. And neither of you,” she added, leveling a sharp look at the dryad, then the troll, “can cultivate on shared neutral soil without approval through the Department of Flora and Fauna.”
“But—” the dryad began.
Opal raised a finger. “No. I'm not done.”
She turned the badge slightly. The shimmer intensified until it hummed gently in the air as she used it as a flashlight. “Now. The mushrooms have merged root systems. See that?” She pointed toward the glowing caps. “Means shared biological imprinting. Whether you like it or not, you have got yourself a joint garden.”
The dryad and troll glanced at each other. Both looked horrified.
"I’ll write up a temporary joint cultivation agreement and communicate with the Department of Flora and Fauna, but you both need to get documentation still," Opal continued, unclipping a different form from her clipboard. “Fifty-fifty care. Fifty-fifty rights. You’ll each maintain one half of the territory, marked with a colored bioluminescent string to not interrupt any mushroom growth. It comes in seasonal shades. I’d go with Autumn, but that’s your call.”
The troll opened his mouth.
“If you argue about colors,” Opal added, without looking up from her clipboard, “I will fine you for wasting my time.”
The troll shut his mouth.
The dryad folded her arms but nodded stiffly. “Fine. But if he eats one of my mushroom-lings, I’ll use vines to bind his ankles and torture—”
“If you do threaten him in front of me, I will be legally required to call the police,” Opal muttered, jotting her signature with a Bureau pen that smelled faintly of pine sap. Satisfied, she clicked her pen closed with a sharp click and turned to Jasper.
The fae was still draped across his absurd mushroom, looking smug while picking glitter out from under his nails.
“You,” she said, pointing her pen at him, “get a warning.’
“A warning?" he asked, eyes alight with mockery. "That’s very serious. Shall I write it on a leaf and frame it?”
“Don’t test me, Jasper. Because you did not cause any assault but did give suggestions to incite a dispute, I cannot legally hold you liable. So, you get a warning.”
Jasper held up both hands in surrender. “I’ll take the mere warning. You really do wear bureaucracy with style, Miss—what is your name again?”
“Call me Ms. Finch.”
“Formal much?”
With the warning delivered and the paperwork signed in glowing ink, Opal sighed, shook some stray glitter spores off her coat, and started trudging back down the moss path that led out of the glade, leaving the dryad and the troll to continue arguing with each other.
Her boots squelched in the mud.
She really needed tea.
Opal exhaled hard as she trudged forward on the mossy trail. The Mossglen Glade’s border shimmered behind her, marked by the distant chime of mushroom bells.
A soft humming voice followed.
She didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
However, out of mere annoyance and a sliver of hope that it was not him, she turned around. And of course, there he was.
Jasper.
His hands were tucked behind his back, and his silver-white hair was gleaming as if it had never known dirt or rain. His boots—if that was what they were—did not quite touch the ground. A group of school-nymphs passed them, umbrellas of leafy silk swaying in rhythm. One of them looked at Jasper too long and tripped. A troll sped by, slowed just enough to stare and then look quickly away. A centaur with a courier bag full of glowing scrolls muttered under his breath and gave the fae a wide frown.
Admiration. Curiosity. Wariness.
Fae rarely left their realm. And when they did, they usually brought trouble, either on purpose or just for fun.
Opal pressed her fingers into her temples. “Why are you following me?”
Jasper tilted his head. “Am I?”
“Yes.”
“I’m merely walking.”
“In the same direction as me.”
“A delightful coincidence.”
She growled and picked up her pace.
Behind her, Jasper whistled some tune.
Eventually, the forest path curved outward to reveal the Transit Bloom. It was a massive, flower-like transport hub built into the cliffside. Its enormous translucent petals shifted gently with the wind, revealing floating pods as transportation.
Opal tapped her badge against a floral pedestal. It chimed, and a Bureau-assigned pod shimmered into view: a sleek silver and green transportation pod.
She stepped inside and let the pod seal around her.
The route home was scenic. She traveled through the Rootline Tunnel, which had glowing roots like arteries wrapped on the walls, and the Mirage Falls, which showcased reflective waterfalls and bodies of water that were just enough to make her dizzy if she looked directly at them.
Every five minutes, she glanced left.
Every time, Jasper floated there. Not in a pod. Not on a platform. Just floating. Arms folded behind his back, drifting through the air.
At one point, he waved.
She nearly screamed.
By the time she stepped out at the Bureau’s Regional Division 7, a towering structure grown from living bark and stone with enchanted lanterns and veined with vines, Opal was one breath away from quitting. Or committing an illegal act.
Taking a deep breath to get rid of those impulsive thoughts, she turned on her heel, jabbing a finger at him. “What do you want, Jasper?”
He blinked slowly. “Nothing. Just enjoying the scenery.”
She tilted her head back and groaned. Then, she peeked one eye open. “You’re not allowed inside the Bureau.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Jasper said pleasantly. “Dreams are such private things, after all. I should know.”
She stared.
He smiled.
She turned and stormed toward the front doors. “This job doesn’t pay me enough. Not even close.”
Katie Chung
Katie Chung enjoys writing fiction to explore identity, motivation, and emotion through characters and settings that reflect real-world themes. She believes storytelling can increase curiosity and raise meaningful questions to deepen our understanding of people and society. Outside of writing, she enjoys making art, reading, exploring science, and playing the piano.